


He Loved Us (Because We are Unlovable)

by TheQueen



Category: Naruto
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Gore, Dissociation, Hashirama is the crazy one, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2018-08-12 09:28:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7929517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheQueen/pseuds/TheQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The AU where Hashirama is the one to fall and Madara loves him just a little bit more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate title: Fighting with Angels (Sleeping with Demons)

His lungs burn as he gasps, desperate for air. Around him the forest flies past as he pushes his legs just a little harder, just a little faster. Wind tears at his clothes and his hair. Tears form in the corners of his eyes. The forest is mourning in his ears and the trees are bowing. Because in the distance he can feel Itama quiver in fear. His heart pounding to the time of Hashirama’s steps. Behind him, Tobirama calls for him to slow down, speaks of traps and tactic and control. But Hashirama cannot hear him, will not hear him. Not now. Not when Itama is crying for him.

Hashirama does not expect it. He does not understand it. He sees red-red blood fly into the air as his brother cries out. And a man with red-red-sharigan eyes pulls out a blade where his (their) heart lies.

The world falls silent. The man pulls out his blade. His clansmen and allies fall into place to battle the reinforcements.

Hashirama sees nothing but Itama, lifeless and terrified. Slumped against a rock like a rag doll. Blood falling where his (their) heart should be.

 

...

 

He wakes up two days later. There is blood in his hair and on his clothes. Skin under his nails and muscle between his teeth. When he reaches out to the forest, the earth beneath him is soaked in blood and tears and piss. But it is only when he stands does he see the bodies, mangled and strewn across the clearing. A head there. A torso here. Cracked armor and broken kunai. Some are speared across new born trees like some offering to a sick, sick God. And yet… He sees it and it does not matter. It is all so far away. It does not fill him with the dread or horror he knows it should. Perhaps…only mild disgust?

He picks his way across the field to where Tobirama stands. There is fear in his brother’s eyes. When Hashirama is close enough, he takes a step back. Behind Tobirama, for the first time, Hashirama see his father. Itama’s sword hangs useless at his side. It is large, large enough for a full grown man to wield and yet it was handed to a child.

 _There is something funny in that_ , Hashirama thinks. Hashirama smiles, Oh… yes there is something very funny here. He just… he just can’t seem to put his finger on it.

“Hashirama,” Tobirama whispers and Hashirama feels his breath leave him. The world tilts. He stumbles. Falls into his brother’s side and struggles to breath. His lungs burn. The air will not come. Dark spots dance across the corners of his eyes as the group (and there are more people here. His people?) lets out a series of cries. Some are talking. Some are yelling. Two hands try to pull him away and he clings harder to his brother (his last brother). Tobirama urges him to calm, pries his hands off and then he is falling backwards. He breathes harder, desperate. A woman comes into view between the hazy black that has begun to dominate his vision. She says something. And then Tobirama is there, clutching his hand and mouthing, “It’s going to be okay.”

He knows no more.

 

...

 

There are few who speak to him these days and their silence is as damning as any screams.

Apparently there had been Senju bodies in that field. Hashirama remembers nothing.

His brother is the only one who keeps him company, stays by his side despite the looks and well-meaning warnings.  _He’s dangerous,_  they whisper when they think he cannot hear _, He’ll slit your throat in your sleep and grow a tree where your heart should be_. It’s insulting, the idea that Hashirama would ever hurt Tobirama. No. He’d slaughter the world and slit his own throat before ever laying a hand on his brother. He will not let another brother die. Not again. Never again.

(He has nightmares about red eyes and red stained hands holding his brother’s heart like a peace offering. He always wakes up screaming; the trees groaning in the distance.)

His father treats him like an animal, collared and caged but always willing to the hand that feeds it. This does not bother him as much as it should and Hashirama only finds humor in it. It is not as if they have ever had a proper relationship, after all. There is little lost here. But there are times when the silence becomes too much and he feels a certain itch under his skin that makes the wind pick up and the trees in their courtyard quiver hard enough to make mother’s pull their children indoors as if that could save them.  _After all… is their house not made of wood?_  Hashirama think, a dark smile twisting his face. Besides him, his brother reaches out with cautious hands as he lets out a quiet, pitiful laugh. Around them, the trees bloom in the midst of fall. Hashirama, distantly, thinks it all looks rather pretty.

Finally, he cannot handle it. The silence is suffocating. The fear is suffocating. The itch under his skin is this constant strain, driving him mad. He grabs his shoes and makes to leave. He has to leave. Because Tobirama is in the house and he will not do something he will regret.

“Hashirama,” Tobirama calls out to him and Hashirama has enough sense to fight down the itch long enough to look over his shoulder, “Where are you going?”

Hashirama thinks for a moment before answering, “It doesn’t matter. I’ll be back by sun down.”

“Hashirama,” Tobirama tries again and Hashirama silences him with a stern look.

“I need a run,” he snaps and fights down a snarl when he sees his brother flinch. Somewhere in the house there are footsteps. His father has heard the commotion. He will come armed. “I will be back by sun down.”

If Tobirama has anything to say in protest, Hashirama does not give him the chance to voice it.

 

...

 

Hashirama sees Madara's reflection in the stream, unafraid and unaware, and the itching in his skin fades for the first time in ten days. Suddenly everything becomes infinitely easier. The world refocuses. The forest, an ever constant presence in the back of his mind, dies down. He feels the beginnings of tears in his eyes.

“Hey! Long time no see,” Madara greets because he has no class and no shame and his oversized jinbei is slightly dirty from trekking through the forest, making far too much noise, and touching far too many trees. “Uh…” he trails off.

“Hashirama,” he reminds him and smiles when he sees a little red along the other boy’s ears.

“Hashirama,” Madara grins before frowning. He bends down a little, starring hard at the back of Hashirama's head. “You seem awfully down. What happened?”

“What's with you,” He tries for a light tone, tries for a joke. "I'm fine."

"Liar," Madara says without pause or distaste as if he is simply stating the weather, a simple truth. "You can talk to me you know."

"It's nothing," he repeats but he says it with an edge he doesn’t really mean because he doesn’t want to talk about it but he really doesn’t want Madara to leave.

Madara, luckily, seems unfazed and comes even closer. “Come on,” he urges, “tell me."

“I said it’s nothing,” Hashirama insists and he can feel tears forming in the corner of his eyes and the forest’s distant hum turns into a groan, but still Madara seems unaffected.  _And how can he not notice when he is also a shinobi_? Hashirama is dangerous. Hashirama is a murderer and he knows he should feel regret, but he doesn’t. And he doesn’t know why! The itching starts again.

“Hey, stop drag this out,” Madara huffs. He comes even closer and Hashirama does not understand how someone can be so… so ridiculous and unafraid. “I promise to listen,” he orders.

“It’s nothing,” Hashirama snaps, tears falling for the first time since Tobirama took him home. Suddenly, the forest bends closer, their branches reaching out as if to hug or spear. Hashirama does not know. He cannot think.

“Out with it!” Madara orders, pointing with an expression that screams annoyance, making to get in Hashirama’s face before the screech of snapping wood calls his attention away. “What,” he whispers, spinning taking a step back and colliding into Hashiram’s chest. And Hashirama had not realized he’d stood up. From where they are standing the trees look more like claws. Madara seems to have finally realized the danger he’s in because his shoulders tense and he spins back around, taking several steps back. “Are you doing this?”

But… Hashirama realizes with awe, there is no fear in his voice. Confusion and disbelief, but no fear. And for the first time, Hashirama really looks at his companion. Wild black hair and tanned skin smudged with dirt. Dark-dark eyes. Skinny frame hidden by an oversized jinbei, but Madara’s chakra flares and he can feel the heat from where he stands. Hot like a forest fire. Hot like an inferno.  _He could burn this forest to the ground in enough time_ , Hashirama thinks distantly. The forest stops screaming. His tears dry up. “Sorry,” he whispers. It almost feels like regret (but what does that feel like these days?).

Madara is still looking at him with even more confusion, eyebrows furrowed and mouth slightly ajar. “You…” and then his expression changes from disbelief to something like anger, but it is not as dark and bitter as the anger Hashirama has grown accustomed to at home. “You idiot!”

“What?” Hashirama cries as Madara comes close and smacks him in the shoulder. It hurt, but only slightly. Less like an actual slap and more like the hits Tobirama used to give when he and It-…when he was being particularly ridiculous.

“Chakra exhaustion is nothing to sneeze at,” Madara plows on. “I don’t care if you’ve got a blood limit. You can’t just go throwing your chakra around like that. What if you got hurt? I won’t bury you! I swear I’ll leave you to the river!”

Hashirama can’t help it. He starts laughing. A deep, belly-aching sort of laughter tinged with hysteria. He double’s over and grabs his side.

In front of him, Madara looks completely lost, “Oi! Hashirama, Are you were completely mad?”

At this, Hashirama laughs even harder. The trees have straightened. The wind has died down. The itch is gone. He can barely catch his breath.

Madara watches him for a few more moments before gently (and he hadn’t thought the other could be gentle, but what did he really know about the boy in front of him except for his competitive nature and cluelessness in the face of real danger, caring for him when Hashirama could rip him limb from limb without even realizing) placing a hand on Hashirama’s shoulders. “There, there,” he says, awkwardly. His touch is light, easy to get out of if he needs to. “It’s going to be okay, Hashirama. It’s going to be okay.”

And no it’s not. Because his clan fears him and his father hates him and he has only one brother left when he should have three. But Madara makes it easy to believe for just a moment and that is when Hashirama realizes he is crying again.

When Hashirama can catch enough breath to stop laughing, he tells Madara everything. About his brother’s death and how he woke up in a clearing full of bodies with his clan afraid of every breath he takes. Not that he doesn’t deserve it. Because he is dangerous. Because he does not know the next time he will snap (it is only a matter of time, he can feel it in his bones).

“You should be scared of me,” Hashirama warns him.

Madara doesn’t say anything, just keeps rubbing awkward little circles on his back. “I had five brothers once,” Madara says instead, stepping away and picking up a stone. He flicks his wrists just right and it skips clear across the river to the other bank. “Now I have one.”

 _And oh…_ , Hashirama thinks,  _he’s like me then_.

 

...

 

(Madara returns from his meeting with Hashirama with hands shaking and face pale. The trees of the forest, old and tall and so very wide, have never felt so present, so terrifying. Because he’d seen the bodies that’d been returned to them. Thick black branches reaching up through chests and arms and heads. Leaves and budding Chrysanthemum colored Sharigna-red where eyes should be. Thick roots instead of legs.

Madara has seen war, has fought in battles since he was seven years old and strong enough to bring rations to the front lines. But he’s never seen savagery like that, never seen brutality on that level. His father had seen the field the bodies had come from and returned pale and sweating and prone to nightmares for a week. Madara did not have the courage to see if he could stand the sight.

And now Hashirama, his friend, a boy who cries as easily as he laughs the first time he’d met him and who’d been on Madara’s mind in passing several times in the weeks they hadn’t seen each other. Hashirama, a boy whose presence calls to Madara for a reason he cannot understand… When the trees had moved, Madara thought he was going to die, that his father would find his body speared on an oak sapling with Chrysanthemums for eyes. But his friend had been crying, sobbing. His chakra had been reaching out, harsh and powerful like winds before a sea storm, but still searching, calling out, all the same.

Madara could not help but answer. For a moment, Madara had thought of Izuna.

And there had been so much of it. Too much. Like it was bleeding out and Hashirama hadn’t  _cared_! He’d seen men die from chakra exhaustion and it was a stupid and painful death. He would not witness it again. Not if he could help it, anyway.

Madara frowns.  _Stupid Senju_.

“Aniki!” Izuna calls out as he steps into the doorway and takes off his shoes. From where he stands he can hear his mother reading to Hikaku in the living room, his little cousin never far from his brother’s side. “Did you bring me something?”

Madara make his way to the kitchen, lightly ruffling his brother’s hair. “No.”

“Did you do anything cool?” Izuna asks falling into step as Madara goes to the living room to great his mother.

Their house is a small one. Minimalist to the point of bare. Despite what he’d heard people, allies and enemies alike, say, the Uchiha are a modest clan, their history more nomadic than people realized though the Uchiha have always lived in the compound as far as Madara remembers even if his mother sometimes implied that he’d been born elsewhere. Maybe one day they can leave again? Walk the roads and patrol the fire country like they once had, only taking on work as needed to survive. That sounded like a much grander life than war.  

“I explored the forest,” Madara answers, somewhat truthfully.  _I held our clan’s greatest enemy as he cried over the death of his brother_ feels too ridiculous to utter out loud even if it is the truth.

Izuna laughs suddenly and his smile turned a little dark (dark for a seven year old which is more adorable than anything else and doesn’t he have just have the cutest little brother?). “Did you meet the forest demon?”

“The forest demon?”

His mother has finished her chapter and set the book down. “Izuna,” she reprehends lightly. “We’ve spoken about this.”

Izuna pouts, “Well what else could it be that made all the people grow trees.” He whines, “No person could do that.”

“Izuna,” and this time it is Hikaku who always knows what to say to get Izuna to see reason. “We shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.”

Izuna huffs, but lets the matter drop.

“Is father home?” Madara asks suddenly overcome with the need to tell someone. He’d almost died. His hands shake and he clasps them together to force them still. Outside the trees simply sit but he knows a boy who can use them as weapon and there is little they can do to stop him.

“No,” his mother sounds worried. He does not want to worry her. She is always so ill. “Madara, is something wrong?”

Taking a deep breath, he forces himself to calm  _down_. “No,” he says with a steady voice. “No.” He looks up to meet his mother’s eye. “Excuse me. I’ll be in my room.” He doesn’t give her a chance to respond.

 

...

 

His father is less easy to shake off.

“Madara,” his father demands, opening the door with unnecessary force. “You will come down to dinner this instant. This behavior will not be tolerated.”

Madara clings to his covers and shakes his head.

“Madara,” his father growls. A warning.

“Do…” Madara takes a deep breath, “Do you think the Senju that did that was human?” he asks.  _The demon of Senju_ , Madara thinks and tries to add the title to the image he has of Hashirama. It does not fit. It does not make sense.

Tajima’s face softens. “It was one man. One man is not his clan,” his father says gently. “You have nothing to fear from the Senju.”

 _Oh…_  Madara thinks on this. “What if I meet him?”

His father sits by his side and runs his hand, so warm, through Madara’s hair as if he is a child again. “Run.”)

 

...

 

After that, Hashirama finds himself returning to the river more and more often as the itching grows stronger, casting out his sense to the trees to try and catch a glimpse of his dark haired companion. Were they friends? Hashirama has to admit he does not know. He hopes though. He hopes so.

Finally, two weeks later, Madara returns. This time with a single red Chrysanthemum in hand. “I got your message,” he says, jokingly.

Hashirama does not know what he means. It must show on his face because Madara frowns, “You do know you were growing these under my window don’t you?” he asks, “Sorry it took me so long, but I couldn’t leave until my father left.”

“No,” Hashirama admits, “I don’t even know where you live.”

And isn’t that… strange.

He wonders why the flowers are red though as the two boys sit by the river and begin speaking about their day, what little they can say without giving too much away. 

 

...

 

Tobirama brings it up only once, a month later when Hashirama finds himself meeting Madara once a week. The calming presence has yet to leave the other boy for all that he is loud and abrasive and quick to pick a fight. They spar often these days. Hashirama makes a point of not using his mokuton.

(He’d tried only once. The fear that had crossed Madara’s face for only a moment had left a sour feeling in his stomach for a week.)

“Hashirama,” Tobirama starts as Hashirama returns after a day of sparing and chatting and simply being with the only person Hashirama feels he connects to on a level deeper than blood. “Where do you go?”

“Runs,” Hashirama says as if it isn’t a lie, easy and with no guilt. Because Madara is his and he knows his brother and father. They will take Madara from him. He knows they will just like he knows his brother has grown brave as time passes. Two weeks ago, he wouldn’t have dared to question his brother, to invoke his anger in any way even if Hashirama rarely feels anger within the bounds of the compound. In fact, he rarely feels anything within the walls of the compound. It is only with Madara….

“Liar,” Tobirama snaps, face set in that familiar frown. For a moment, Hashirama is taken back to a time before It--.

He stops thinking. He takes off his shoes, places them by the door. He does not hear what Tobirama says to him. He does not hear his father call out for him as he passes him the wall. He goes to his room. He closes the door. He gets in his bed. He tries not to scream.

 

...

 

(The next morning, Madara wakes to a shrub of chrysanthemums growing at the foot of the bed. Its roots made up of the floor boards and he curses Hashirama under his breath as he hacks at the trunk with a kunai. Honestly, how does the other boy expect Madara to hide this?  _Stupid Senju!_ )

 

...

 

For the first time, Hashirama returns to the river twice in one week, two days in a row. He does not expect Madara to come, not really. But he needs the other boy. There is blood rushing in his ears and his hands are shaking the way they do when the itch has become too much. He makes the trees bloom despite the winter chill setting in. People take four steps back and to the side when he passes them on the street on days like this. They have better self-preservation than Madara.

Hashirama, after all, is dangerous.

To his surprise, Madara is there waiting for him, a bouquet of red chrysanthemum in hand. When he sees him step out of the tree line, the boy jumps to his feet, brandishing the bouquet like a sword. “A whole shrub!” Madara cries, face red, “How do you expect me to hide the damage, Senju? My family isn’t full of idiot! You stupid, stupid Senju!”

Hashirama takes a step back, hands up and ready to beg forgiveness because this has become a common argument and Hashirama doesn’t even know why his mokuton act like that or how they even find Madara considering Hashirama has no idea where the other boy lives when his brain catches up with his ears. “How…” Hashirama stammers, letting his hands drop. And Madara looks surprised as the atmosphere of the afternoon changes from playful to still in a matter of seconds, “How do you know my family name?”

It is Madara’s turn to look confused before a look of shame takes over and he shifts from one foot to the other and allows his hands to fall limp to his side. “I….” The worst part is that he cannot meet Hashirama’s eyes. “There is only one ninja I know of who can use trees like you can,” Madara almost whispers.

And Hashirama feels like a fool.  _Of course_ , he thinks bitterly,  _Madara knows of my actions in the clearing_. Of course he’d heard the rumors of the forest demon from Senju who slaughtered without remorse. (Really what part of that is a lie, because yes he misses his clan and yes he misses their trust. But he cannot apologize when he felt no guilt. Those men had deserved to die for what they did to his brother—the wind and trees began to grown without Hashirama’s notice and Madara took several steps onto the water as if that could save him—and the rest were casualties that shouldn’t have gotten in his way.)  _But_ , his mind whispered,  _he’d stayed. Even though he had every right to fear, he had stayed_.

What Hashirama had first thought of as ignorance he now realizes is foolish, foolish bravery.

“You knew and yet you stayed,” Hashirama says as if it is a question and not a statement, not a fact.

Madara nodded, slowly. Around him, the trees continue to groan. Thorns and saplings climbed up from the ground, reaching for him, and Madara makes his way to the center of the river.

“You must be an idiot,” Hashirama laughs. Madara flinches at the sound so tinged with self-loathing.

Madara clears his throat, “You are my friend.”

 _As if it were that simple_ , Hashirama thinks. Tobirama is his brother. That does not keep his brother from fearing.  _Not that he’d given the boy a reason not to fear,_ his mind reminds him. “So what is yours?” Hashirama asks as the forest settles. Madara does not come any closer.

“Hashirama,” Madara says as if to placate him.

Hashirama cut him off, “You know mine. It’s only fair.”

Madara shakes his head. “You’ll kill me,” he says with such truth that for a moment Hashirama believes him.

“No,” Hashirama answers with as much conviction.   _Not you. Never you, Madara_.

Slowly, Madara comes back to shore, stepping around the thorns. “You promise?” he tries for teasing, but Hashirama hears fear. It is the first time he has ever heard fear from his friend. He quickly realizes he hates it.

“I promise,” Hashirama says and he means it. He means every word.

Madara takes a deep breath as if steeling himself and says, “Uchiha.”

The world slows.

“My name is Madara, Uchiha Madara,” he repeats.

Hashirama does not know what to think. “Your clan killed my brother.” He says as if half awake. The words do not make sense.

“And you grew sharigan-red chrysanthemums in place of their eyes,” Madara answers as if it could ever be as simple as that.

Hashirama’s eyes travel down to the bouquet Madara still holds in his hands. He says nothing.  _That is why they are blood red…_

“Your clan killed my brothers,” Madara adds.

Hashirma takes a deep breath, “And yet you call me your friend.”

“You are not your clan.” Madara smiles that same toothy grin. Then he says with far too much pride, “I don’t fear you.”

 

...

 

Hashirama is aware enough to know he’s a coward. He’d run unsure what to say in the face of his friend’s trust, afraid of what’d he might do to prove him wrong (because in that moment all he’d wanted was to grab his friend and never let him go. Take him somewhere safe where nothing could ever… and that was wrong! That is wrong… right?)

He can think of nothing else as his brother and he help each other into their armor. His father is sending them to battle. Against who, he does not know. Perhaps he is no longer allowed that knowledge. Perhaps his father does not know who their enemy is. It does not matter. Little does these days. Not while he cannot face Madara. It has been weeks since he has seen his friend.

He would say he missed him if the ache did not feel worse than that.

“Be safe,” he tells Tobirama as they fall into line behind their father. His right and left hand. Around him sings nervous energy as his people get ready for battle. As they march out, people call out good luck. A child hands him a flower and it catches him off guard enough to make him pause in the middle of the march. It is only his brother’s hand that urges him forward.

As if reading his mind, Tobirama says, “We do not hate you, brother.”

Hashirama thinks of their silence and cannot help but disagree.

“We worry for you.”

Looking down at the flower he has been given, he feels his breath leave him. A single yellow chrysanthemum. Not one he grew or cultivated, but beautiful. He wonders if Madara would prefer this color instead.  _It would suit him_ , he thinks as his father sends them to the trees and they fall into battle formation,  _yellow for his smile. Red for his eyes._

 

...

 

The battle flows. An enemy catches his father unaware and Hashirama loses track of time. There is red and black and red. Sound means nothing. Air means nothing. In the distance, people are dying. But… no…. He forces himself to focus, too look. There is a man in front of him with thorny vines winding their way around his throat. Around him, people are fleeing. Some are dead. His brother…

His brother is calling his name as his father is carried away by Senju-nin. “Enough Hashirama,” Tobirama screams, “Enough, Aniki.”

And Hashirama can hear him. Hashirama can see him. The vines unwind and shrink, return to the earth he’d pulled them from. Black, snarled trees dot the battle field, pinning down enemy-nin. The earth smells of blood and piss. His toes squelch in the mud.

His brother takes a deep breath and cries out his name, but Hashirama cannot answer him as he should: with words instead of just gesture. There is a ringing in his ears and an ache near his eyes. His cheeks are wet. But is it wet with tears or blood?

Around him the enemy is fleeing. His people are retreating, the injured carried on make-shift stretchers, the dead ( _so few, so few compared to what he has done_ , but that thought feels distant, something the old Hashirama would think) are piled into a corner for later burial.  _Which pile is my father apart of?_

Tobirama is coming closer. Hashirama wants to tell him to stay back. He cannot make his voice work. There is an itch under his skin and a clawing feeling at the back of his throat. He is aware enough that he is going to hurt someone. He is aware enough that he needs to leave. He will not hurt Tobirama. He will never allow anyone to hurt Tobirama.

He takes a step back.

“Aniki?” Tobirama asks, hands reaching out. But Hashirama will not let him touch him. He will not hurt Tobirama. He will not hurt the last of his family.

He runs. He does not look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mokuton is such a badass power and, from what I’ve seen, the only reason Tenzo and Hashirama aren’t the most OP fuckers in the series is because they aren’t creative enough (that and they have morals, looking at you Obito!). It was that thought plus, “what if Hashirama was the crazy one” that really fueled this story’s creation. 
> 
> I admit I don't really know where I'm going with this so thoughts and suggestions would be helpful! Tell me what you think. Do you want more?


	2. Chapter 2

He does not know how long he runs or how far he travels. But when he stops, it is night when before it had been morning. The moon is heavy in the night sky, full and illuminating his path through the forest. He can feel the animals in the under bush and the few humans that patrol the forest. He is in someone’s territory but they do not sense him.

Too them, he must feel like just one of the trees…

 _I could kill them_ , Hashirama thinks without malice and without regret. He could slaughter every living thing in this forest, but what would that do for him? What would that get him? He is tired of bloodshed. There is blood under his nails and in his hair. He can feel it staining his clothes and skin. He can smell it every time he takes a breath even though he is miles from battle.  He had won the battle at the cost of his father, at the near cost of his brother and so one must ask what had he won, really?

He hadn’t even known who his enemy was.

The forest feels never ending as his feet carry him this way and that, directionless now that the fear and the bloodlust has died down to that too familiar itch. At some point, he makes a left and the forest almost feels familiar.

This is where Madara finds him.

There is a gate. And beyond that a compound. On the gate is ascribed the Uchiha Clan’s symbol: a red and white uchiwa. Below that stands Madara, half-asleep and dressed in a loose fitting shirt and looser pants, the cuffs rolled up to keep from dragging along forest floor. He is, to Hashirama’s surprise, barefoot. From the earth, he can feel his chakra, warm and large and reaching out to him in controlled amounts. A beacon.

“Madara,” Hashirama says as greeting, stepping closer until they are too close. He can feel the other’s breath on his face.

“Hashirama,” Madara echoes, catching the other boy when Hashirama’s knees suddenly goes weak and the battle fatigue finally catches up to him. Around them the forest is quiet except for animals in the underbrush and the Uchiha in the trees, but still they seemed to not have noticed him. He hopes they have not noticed him. But then… how did Madara know to wait for him.

“You grew a tree by my window,” Madara says as if reading his mind, “And a bush by my bed. My brother is very impressed.”

“Izuna,” Hashirama mumbles, remembering his brother’s name. Four years younger and so bright, according to Madara. But elder brothers were always biased on those things aren’t they?

Madara hums as Hashirama fights to stay awake. Suddenly the world tilts and Hashirama comes to find himself hanging off of Madara’s back. “None of that now,” Madara insists, “Just close your eyes. You’re safe now.”

And okay. Hashirama can do that.

 

.

 

(Madara shushes Izuna as he closes the door, Hashirama dead weight on his back.

“Is that the forest demon?” Izuna asks, eyes wide and bright in the dim lighting of their room. The chrysanthemum bush twists and turns until it is reaching up and up against their ceiling and Madara scowls. His room is not big enough to house a tree.  _Stupid, stupid Senju!_

(Not for the first time, he wonders why he isn’t more scared then he should be. It helps that Izuna looks equal parts scared and awed.)

“Hush, Izuna,” Madara hisses, setting the other boy down on his bed roll. He does not know enough about healing to try anything too complex, but he can clean the blood and wrap any wounds he finds easily enough. “Get some water and rags,” he orders when he’s got Hashirama comfortable. He cannot leave. He does not know what will happen if Hashirama wakes and he is not there. The chrysanthemums seem to loom.

Izuna hesitates only a moment before he is gone, his little footsteps echoing in the quiet of their house. Not for the first time that Madara is very grateful his parents were not home. “Oh what have you gotten us into, Hashirama?”)

 

.

 

Hashirama wakes to Madara crying out. He reacts without thinking. The wood of the floor comes forward like claws, some wrapping around Madara and pulling him close while the rest twist and turn like a barbed fence. When he is certain Madara is safe within his arms does he open his eyes to see a very flustered Uchiha.

“Stupid Senju!” Madara scowls, smacking him lightly on the shoulder. “You’re safe.”

On the other side of the fence sits a young boy staring at him with wide-wide eyes. He has short black hair and Uchiha-black eyes. It isn’t too much of a leap to realize this must be Izuna. He returns the floorboards to their place. It is only then does he notice the small tree growing in the room. “Sorry.”

Madara rolls his eyes and pulls away until he is standing in the center of the room, strategically between Izuna and Hashirama. Hashirama feels no offense. He remembers the battle with growing grief. Tobirama will never trust him. Tears form in the corner of his eyes.

A small hand comes forward, cautiously touching his own. He blinks furiously to see Izuna—so young—standing too close with a look of worry. “Forest Demon-san,” Izuna says, “It’s going to be okay.”

He lets out a weak, wet chuckle. Madara stares on fondly. What is wrong with these Uchiha? Is it something in the water that makes them stupid to danger? Izuna looks up at him with kind eyes. “Aniki will help make the sad go away,” Izuna promises him and beckons Madara over. Madara takes a seat next to him.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Hashirama thinks for a moment. “I did it again. I lost control.”

“Did you hurt anyone?”

“I… I don’t know,” Hashirama admits. “I think my father is dead.”

Madara is silent for a moment. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Hashirama is surprised to realize he sounds genuine.

 

.

 

After breakfast, Hashirama cannot stay any longer. Apparently Madara’s parents are out on a patrol with the majority of the village’s warriors. A rival clan has been pushing their boarders. But they are scheduled to return that morning.

When they leave Izuna comes with them to their river. “Good bye, Forest Demon-san,” Izuna says.

Madara scowls and smacks his brother lightly. “Izuna…”

Hashirama smiles a genuine smile and replies, “See you later, Madara. Izuna-chan.”

Izuna scowls. Madara laughs. Hashirama gives one last wave before he walks away, back towards home, back towards the Senju.

 

.

 

(Izuna walks several steps ahead of him, running his fingers across the trees, and oddly silent. “Izuna,” Madara prompts.

Izuna pauses, his fingers lightly tapping against an oak. “He’s a Senju,” Izuna finally says.

“He is.”

“He killed our family,” Izuna’s voice sounds older than it should. Madara walks forward and hovers, unsure if he should reach out to comfort his brother or let Izuna reach whatever conclusion he is struggling with. Finally, Izuna asks, “Do you think he’ll be okay?”

“I hope so,” Madara says.

“The next time you go see him, can I come with you?” Izuna asks, resuming his walk.

“Of course,” Madara smiles.)

 

.

 

Silence defines the compound Hashirama returns to. His brother is waiting by the gate, barefoot with a handful of flowers from their garden. His chakra flowing into the forest floor just as Madara’s had done the night before.

When Hashirama comes into view, Tobirama’s legs to weak and he collapses, face pushed into the dirt as he falls to his knees in a bow. Hashirama does not know what to do or how to respond. He does not feel numb, not like he usually does when he returns to the compound after a few hours spent with Madara. Rather… he feels… confused? Yes. That is the word. Confused because here is his brother having waited for him. But also here his brother, why did he wait for him? Hashirama is a killer and he does not even have the conscious to feel regret.

Finally, he finds his legs move without his say and he drops to his knees in front of his brother. His hands move and soon he finds his brother in his arms. His face pressed into the space between Tobirama’s neck and shoulder. He can hear his brother’s heartbeat. “I am so sorry, Tobi,” Hashirama whispers. He is crying. He does not know when he started, but he now he cannot stop. “I’m so sorry. I am so very sorry.”

Slowly, Tobirama returns the hug, running a soothing hand along Hashirama’s back. “Oh, brother… Hush now. It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be okay.”

 

.

 

His father is not dead. The news does not bring the relief he hoped for nor does it offer catharsis. He has not killed his father, but that might not matter for his father has not woken from his coma.

Sitting by his father’s bedside, incents lit and rice paper doors open to let in the cooling air of fall, Hashirama wonders if it would be a kindness to kill him now.

As if reading his mind, Tobirama reaches out and takes his hand.

Together they keep vigil

 

.

 

That night as they retire to each of their rooms after dinner, Hashirama finds himself calling out, “Tobirama?”

“Aniki?” Tobirama whispers, eye’s half-lidded with sleep.

Hashirama frowns, fights for the words he’s trying to say before finally, finally settling on, “I missed you.”

Tobirama smiles. “I missed you too, Aniki.”

 

.

 

It becomes common over the next few weeks for Hashirama to come to their river and find Izuna splashing in the water or sleeping in the sun or attempting to climb a tree faster than his older brother. His father still has to wake. The elders have begun to discuss naming a successor to stand in until Hashirama is old enough to his place. But Hashirama has to wonder if he will ever take up the mantle.

His people fear him. It would be foolish to become their leader.

It is on one such afternoon after Izuna tires himself out playing Ninja Tag with Madara and Hashirama and has fallen asleep in Madara’s lap after taking a break on the top of a cliff that Hashirama turns to Madara and says, “Madara... I don't want to kill him."

Madara takes a deep breath, grip on his brother turning knuckle-white for a moment before Izuna protests in his sleep and Madara lets go. There is silence and then, “I don’t know how to respond to that.”

“The Uchiha and Senju have always been at each other’s throats,” Hashirama explains, eye’s never straying from the horizon. “We have peace now, but for how long? One day we will both be on the battle field… I do not wish to take your brother from you.”

Madara takes a deep breath, hand reaching out to take Hashirama’s and squeezes. “I… I don’t see a way to avoid it…”

“My father is the head of the clan,” Hashirama says, “And one day… one day I might take up the mantle. There are already discussions…” He takes another deep breath, “I want to change things. Not just for you or me or Izuna. But for Tobirama. He is my last brother. I do not want to lose him, Madara. I cannot lose him.” Hashirama does not know what he will become if he were to lose Tobirama. He does not know what he will become if he loses Madara.

These thoughts scare him.

“Then we will,” Madara says, voice full of conviction. “One day I will be heir of the Uchiha and we will make something better out of this world.” He turns to Hashirama and grins, all sharp teeth. “For our brothers.”

“For our brothers,” Hashirama echoes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took an unnecessarily long time to write. Omg. Sorry guys. Hope you like it. I know it's short but I just could not get this story to go the way I wanted it to. Hopefully third chapter will be easier.


	3. Chapter 3

Then one day Tobirama follows him. 

Hashirama realizes it only three miles from their compound, the trees sending echoes of his footsteps on branches, the delicate leaves rustling with his movement. Tobirama is a skilled and dedicated tracker. But the very trees are Hashirama’s spies when he wants and his familiarity with his brother’s chakra gives him away. 

For a minute, as he jumps from branch to branch, he considers turning around and leading Tobirama on a merry chase through the trees. Once he would have let it drag on for hours, turn it into both a game and a lesson. But then he decides better.

_ Let him see _ , Hashirama thinks.  _ Let him decide _ .

 

.

 

Three weeks earlier, Hashirama sits in on a discussion that left him bored to tears. The continued discussion of who was to lead their clan an unfortunate necessity as his father remains fast asleep. 

“It is time to admit our healers are incapable,” his Uncle Toshi presses. “We cannot put off this vote any longer.”

The rest of the men glance wearily at each other as Hashirama and Tobirama wait for their decision. Through the open door Hashirama feels a gentle wind carry the promise of a hearty winter. 

“If I may presume,” Tobirama starts, and the men turn to look at them for the first time since they entered. Hashirama makes a point of meeting each of their eyes. There is fear there.  _ Pathetic _ , Hashirama thinks bitterly. All these grown men so infuriating afraid. Too afraid to vote and decide in fear of angering a man bedridden and fast asleep and too afraid to look his Demon son in the eye. None of them are worthy, Hashirama decides. If only…

“Why must there be only one clan leader?” Tobirama asks. “Why not allow for a council?”

“Such things have never been done,” his Uncle Toshi says gently. 

“This situation has never happened before,” Hashirama reminds them and they all look surprised to hear him speak. Before It… Itama he had been more vocal in these meetings, pushing back against his father as often as agreeing. For a while he had barely come and when he did he prefered to say nothing.  _ Better not to anger his keepers _ , he had thought humorlessly. 

(He still remembers the first time he had seen his father reach for his blade in his presence three days after the clearing.)

Now his father is as good as dead with a blade clasped loosely in his fingers -- for any moment, he may pass into the heavens above. Hashirama is certain no man in this room has a quarter of the courage (for better or for worse) his father has…. had.

“A council of three men,” Hashirama says, “one elected from each major branch of the family and…” he considers for a moment naming himself before thinking better. He longs to take control once more and to be renamed heir; his shared dream sits heavily in the forefront of his mind. But he knows… “Tobirama as the representative for our father.”

“Not yourself?” Uncle Itaru says so sudden and so loud as if it had been ripped from him. 

Hashirama smiles and shrugs. “I am well aware of this clans opinion of me.” He looks his uncle in the eye, one by one, and sees them all flinch. “I doubt you all would be willing to work with me.”

Uncle Toshi is quick to close the meeting after that.

 

.

 

Tobirama follows him out into the hall and pulls him into a hug. It is a new habit of his and it takes a moment for Hashirama to respond.

When they seperate, Tobirama’s cheeks are stained a soft red. “Are you feeling well?” Hashirama teases and pat’s his brother’s cheek. 

Tobirama rolls his eyes and starts walking away, cheeks stained even redder. “You know you could have asked before volunteering me.”

Hashirama takes two long strides and then falls into pace. “Who else would I volunteer?”

Tobirama says nothing for a moment and Hashirama adds, “You could be a good leader.”

“So could you, brother,” Tobirama pushes. Hashirama scoffs.

“I cannot lead a people who are afraid,” Hashirama says. It is a conversation they have often when Tobi pushes for him to take the mantle as their uncles fight amongst themselves. In the night as they sit vigil at their father’s bedside, Tobirama will insist that he could do it. But Hashirama knows better. 

“It is presumptuous to assume such things,” Uncle Toshi interrupts. Hashirama freezes. He had not heard him approach. Sloppy. 

“Oh?”

Tobirama grasps his hand loosely and Hashirama squeezes back. Uncle Toshi continues, “Why do you think the people are afraid of you?”

Hashirama shrugs. 

Uncle Toshi sighs and Tobirama’s grip becomes tighter. Hashirama adds, “Not a man in that room could look me in the eye.”

“When is the last time you walked amongst your clansmen?” Uncle Toshi pushes. 

“I don’t…”

“Try it, Hashirama,” Uncle Toshi asks. “One walk once a day through the square. See what they do. Tobirama can come with you if you’d like.”

Hashirama’s brow furrows. What game is his uncle playing?

“Trust me,” Uncle Toshi says.

 

.

 

So he tries it. 

Not immediately and not every day, he has no desire to be proven right time and time again. But on days when he knows Madara will not come to their river and he is too bored to sit in his father’s house--let alone by his father’s bedside -- he walks the street. 

First he walks the rows of shops, purchases the nuts and berries his aunts have gathered and cultivated and eats them as he watches his cousins work on their woodcarving in the town square. Tobirama is around but not always right next to him and not always visibly. Sometimes, he people watches. 

It has been some time since he has sat amongst his clansman -- a season and then some -- and they have changed. Grown older with longer or shorter hair. Some of his younger cousins now come to his waist when once he was certain they’d stood just barely past his knee. 

At first he is ignored. He doesn’t take it personally. It is a better reaction than being asked to leave. Sometimes his younger cousins come to play with him as they did before and he entertains them with games of tic-tac-toe and marbles while spinning tales of fantastical creatures from faraway lands. Slowly, as if the last months of absence had never occurred, the air relaxes. 

The second week he comes to the town square he goes with Tobirama. His Aunt Kiyoto hands them cups of mulled cider as the colder winds settle down and the trees start to hibernate. Hashirama himself starts to feel tired earlier as the earth slows beneath his feet. His runs to visit Madara have turned to amble jogs and sometimes even walks. When his cousins come to play he simply tells story because the prospect of running around sounds exhausting.

Sometimes one of his older cousins will join and listen. Sometimes they will come to just talk to Tobirama. Hashirama doesn’t mind. 

“See,” Uncle Toshi says during dinner, looking far too smug. “It is wrong to presume, Hashirama.”

“So my cousins do not hate me,” Hashirama shrugs, picking at his plate. “That does not mean my uncles will follow me. Tobirama…”

“Tobirama has no desire to lead,” Tobirama interrupts. “Hashirama, once you would have given anything to lead this clan. Why now do you run from it?”

Hashirama presses his lips into a tight line and looks down at his plate. He thinks of the sword his father carries in his hand and the early weeks where not a soul could look him in the eye, when even his own brother feared him. 

“We are not afraid,” Tobirama whispers later that night. “We love you.”

“You love me,” Hashirama corrects. It has taken far too long for Hashirama to come to terms with this. But the evidence is there. He is still somewhat logical. He remembers how Tobirama stood for him at the gate and pulls him close. “I love you.”

Tobirama sighs, “I love you too.”

 

.

 

Now Hashirama returns to his river and to his Madara and his Izuna and senses Tobirama settle against the leaves. 

Madara greats him with a flying kick to the head and he ducks and lets the trees catch him. “Not fair, Hashi!” Madara cries. 

Izuna runs across the river, letting his shoes and pants and shirt get helplessly wet. Hashirama lifts him easily into his arm. He is a good two or three years younger than Tobirama and still far too small. But then again, he looks to Madara who has yet to attempt to escape the branches hugging him close, Uchiha seem to grow small. 

“I can sense your shitty thoughts,” Madara tells him through narrowed eyes. “What are you thinking?”

Hashirama shrugs and lets Izuna down. He turns to look at the trees where Tobirama sits and gestures with his hand for him to join them. There is a moment of silence as he lets Madara down. Madara is watching him as he often does with those same calculating eyes. But stays silent nonetheless.

Finally, Tobirama walks away from the tree line. 

“Who...” Madara starts and then falls silent when Izuna comes to stand next to him. 

“Aniki,” Tobirama says and there is something almost possessive as he comes to stand near Hashirama. He glares at Izuna and Hashirama shakes his head and throws an arm around his brother’s shoulders. He is getting too tall. Soon it might be uncomfortable to do this. 

“Tobirama, this is Uchiha Madara and Uchiha Izuna,” Hashirama introduces. He is careful to keep his chakra under control as he feels his brother tense under his arm. He will separate them if he must. He will not let them tear each other apart, not now and not ever. Not his precious people. “Madara, Izuna-chan. Meet my brother, Senju Tobirama.”

 

.

 

When Hashirama was younger and he still had four brothers, his mother had taken them to a stream far, far away and hidden deep in the woods. They would spend their afternoons along the shore, learning to throw rocks and make stone sculptures only to watch the water carry them away. 

When he finds this river, years later with only three brothers left and no mother, he will hope it is the same river bank from his memories.

 

.

 

(Tobirama watches this Madara and his brother spar from the sidelines with a drawn kunai. Besides him Izuna fidgets. 

“Let’s play!” he decides suddenly. Tobirama freezes as a Uchiha grabs his arm to pull him up and away. 

“Excuse me,” Tobirama hisses, ripping his arm away. In the distance he hears a clashing of kunai. 

“This is boring,” Izuna tells him with an implied ‘duh’ and Tobirama flushes under the Uchiha’s raised eyebrows. “Let’s do something fun.”

“Like sparring?” Tobirama asks. Izuna is younger than him. From where he sits he can tell that he is in the infancy of his training. Most likely just an errand boy on the battlefield if he is even allowed on the battlefield. The Uchiha have become more protective of their young in the recent years, shielding them when called to battle against the Senju by rival warlords. 

Izuna rolls his eyes like Tobirama is being purposefully slow. “I’m going to teach you how to play tag,” Izuna says and then he smacks a hand against Tobirama’s shoulder with far too much force. “Now you’re ‘it.’ Catch me.”

Before Tobirama can react and protest, he’s making for the trees. “Unless you’re too chicken,” Izuna taunts. 

Tobirama doesn’t waste time giving chase after that.) 

 

.

 

“They’re not awful,” Tobirama tells him two nights later when Hashirama is near sleep. “Whatever you’re trying to tell me... I’ll admit they’re not awful.”

Hashirama falls asleep with a smile. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIVE! 2018 is the year I finish my wips! This story has sat gathering dust for far too long. I'm going to do my best to finish it. I'm aiming for 2-3 more chapters. :D 
> 
> Tobirama has finally joined the squad! What could Uncle Toshi be up to? Hashirama wants the dream but is certain he can never lead. Is that true? 
> 
> Please let me know what you think! Is there still interest in this fic after all this time?


End file.
